


Tell Me When it Kicks In.

by Jemmabeth_at_221B



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst and Humor, Angst with a Happy Ending, Drug Use, F/F, F/M, Female Friendship, Female Sherlock Holmes/Female John Watson, Femlock, Gender or Sex Swap, Light Angst, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-07
Updated: 2016-01-07
Packaged: 2018-05-12 10:26:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5662915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jemmabeth_at_221B/pseuds/Jemmabeth_at_221B
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Another case-less, drug-induced day at 221B. (Fem!Lock)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tell Me When it Kicks In.

**Author's Note:**

> Hi guys! This is my first fic on here and my first completed fic in about 5 months as I've been busy with settling into University so I hope this isn't too badly written. I don't have anyone to beta for me so apologies for any errors. I thought I'd try the idea of a female Sherlock and John out and it seems to have gone okay, I think...However, I don't own any of the characters or the BBC Sherlock etc etc.
> 
> Feel free to comment your opinions and/or any constructive criticism...I think that covers it all.
> 
> Enjoy!

It hurt.

Of course it hurt.

It always hurt.

That was the whole point.

Feelings hurt. Emotions hurt.

Of course they did. They were so… _Human_.

To be numb and to feel at the same time was simple.

But what would Joan say?

_It doesn’t matter._

Of course it does. It always matters.

Joan was small minded. All humans were. They were so menial, so naïve.

But not Sherlock. Not Sherlock Holmes, the Great Detective of 221B Baker Street. This… _Addiction_ was controllable.

_Not an addict, just a user._

It was controllable and that’s what mattered. She’d promised Mycroft. The list was creased, torn and stained in the palm of her calloused hand. Her yellowing fingertips curling around the paper. Words only half written out before the overdose took its toll. But she’d promised. So had Mycroft. Promising was something the Holmes’ siblings never turned back on.

“Sherlock.”

_Not again._

Joan was never meant to see her like this. But this wasn’t the first time. It wasn’t going to be the last, either.

Sherlock batted her hand in the direction she guessed Joan would be in. If she opened her eyes now she’d lose everything. Her thoughts, all of them organised. Set and in order, just the way she liked them.

“Sherlock, can you hear me?” As Joan loomed over Sherlock’s starving body, she made some observations of her own. Sherlock’s raven curls were tied in a messy bun atop her head. Her white blouse had slipped over her left shoulder revealing her alarmingly prominent collarbone. Her skin was ghostly white and had been for the past three weeks during the time that she had not moved. Sherlock hadn’t eaten in this time, either. She told Joan “never on a case”, but Joan was positive that the case had discontinued last week. So _why was_ Sherlock still using? Sherlock outstretched her legs from her position on the armchair and held out her left arm, palm upturned and eyes still closed.

“There is a list on the coffee table, Joan. Would you care to pass it to me?” Sherlock’s voice was lethargic and quiet.

“It’s already in your other hand, Sherlock.”

Sherlock sighed but her position remained. “Yes, I’m aware. However, there is another on the table that I wish to make amendments to if that’s okay with you.”

Joan snorted. “ _If that’s okay with you._ Of course it’s not bloody okay! When has it ever been okay for you to continue using, hm?” Regardless, she handed Sherlock the list.

Sherlock took it, toyed with it for a while and spoke again. “A pen too, please.”

“What happened to the one you keep in the breast pocket of your blouse?”

“It’s on the table.” Sherlock replied blandly. “Hence why I have asked you to hand it to me. Do keep up.”

Joan snatched up the pen and dropped it in Sherlock’s palm, watching as her icy blue eyes fluttered open, her long lashes making her look seemingly innocent as she added substance after substance to the ever growing list. Without looking up, she spoke again. “Was your new perfume put to good use last night, Watson?”

Joan’s cheeks flushed as she sat in her own armchair across from her flatmate. “Yes. Don’t pry, Sherlock. You know I hate it.”

“I’m not prying!” Sherlock complained. “Merely-“

“Deducing. I know.”

Sherlock folded the list neatly and tucked it into her trouser pocket as she stood up, giving herself a moment or two to gain her balance. “What was his name?”

“Aiden.” Joan mumbled more to the page of her book rather than Sherlock.

“Attractive? Of course not. Your taste in men is rather- Well, _interesting_ , Joan.”

“He was lovely, Sherlock.” Joan countered. 

Sherlock strolled over to the window and picked up her violin bow, cleaning it attentively. “So lovely that he just _happened_ to get up and leave an hour after you’d had sex.”

Joan shifted uncomfortably. She hated it when Sherlock spoke about her sex life in any way but _especially_ like this. “He left his phone number.”

“Indeed he did. On the back of an old receipt that he found in his wallet.” She turned around and pointed her bow in the direction of Joan’s handbag. The receipt had fallen out and was lying on the ground beside it. “I wouldn’t really say he’s a keeper, would you?”

“Sherlock, stop it.”

Sherlock turned back around and settled her violin under her chin, staring out of the window. “Have you spoken to Lestrade recently?”

_“What?”_

“Have you spoken to Graham-“

“Greg.”

 Sherlock huffed loudly. “Yes. Whatever. Have you spoken to him recently?”

“No. Should I have done?” Joan set her book down in her lap.

“Perhaps. Mycroft is being annoying as ever. He’s demanding that you encourage Lestrade to ask him out on a date.”

Joan grinned and crossed one leg over the other. “Why doesn’t Mycroft just ask Greg himself?”

“I don’t know. Maybe you should ask him.”

“Maybe you should. You’re his sister.”

“And you’re my flatmate and my friend. Should that really determine who asks him what questions?”

“Yes. It’s a personal matter, Sherlock. I hardly see Mycroft coming to me for relationship advice. Do you?”

“You know as well as I do Joan that relationships-“

“Aren’t your area. I know that too.”

“You seem to know a lot of things today, don’t you?” Sherlock’s tone dripped with sarcasm as she pressed her bow to the strings of her violin.

As Sherlock played out a tune that she’d been composing for the past few months, Joan searched her bag for her phone and sent a message to Lestrade.

_Get your love life together, Greg. -JW_

**_1 NEW MESSAGE_ **

_My what?!-GL_

Joan snorted and curled up in her chair, mumbling an apology when Sherlock shot her an annoyed glance.

_Mycroft is bothering Sherlock. Apparently you need to ask him out on a date soon & I recommend you do it ASAP because I don’t want to be harassed by Sherlock about this for the next however many months. -JW_

_You don’t think I’ve tried? I’ve asked him out for coffee AND tea more times than I can remember! -GL_

“He said he’s tried.” Joan shrugged.

Sherlock sighed. “Tell him that neither tea nor coffee is the British Government’s idea of a date.”

“Just tell Mycroft to ask Greg out instead! This is frustrating! I just want to bang their heads together and make them kiss, already!” Joan set her phone down on the coffee table and gazed over at Sherlock.

“That’s a touch dramatic, don’t you think? I don’t see Mycroft going along with that idea.”

“It’s a joke, Sherlock.” Joan deadpanned.

“I know. I was just thinking that logistically-“

“You don’t need to think logistically.”

Sherlock rolled her eyes. She was used to Joan occasionally shooting her down. She knew that Joan never meant it maliciously. As she turned away from the window and set her violin down, she stood and observed Joan for a few minutes before deciding to sit opposite her. Her palms met as she set her hands under her chin and waited till Joan met her eyes.

Joan looked up, her eyebrows furrowed. “What are you looking at?”

“You.”

 “Obviously.”

“Don’t try to be smart, Joan. I’m the smart one.”

Joan snorted again. “Charming as ever. Seriously, why are you staring at me?”

“I’m waiting for you to ask.”

“Ask _what_?”

“Morphine, Cocaine or Ecstasy.”

Joan sighed heavily and began to plait her long blonde hair. “I don’t need to ask, Sherlock. I know. I watched you write them all down.”

Sherlock noted that the look in Joan’s sky blue eyes had changed. She looked upset and it hit Sherlock hard when she told herself that it was because of her that Joan felt this way. She never took this into consideration before or even during the times she used. It was always afterwards, when she really payed attention to Joan’s feelings that it really hit her and the guilt trip settled in. Joan had been sad from the minute she walked through the door, Sherlock had known that. But she’d done her usual and insulted her for not choosing the right kind of man for her, instead.

Now that she was observing, she noted everything different about Joan. Her hair hadn’t been brushed this morning. There was a red wine stain just on the hem of her blouse. The heels she’d gone out in were in her bag and though she was wearing no shoes now, she’d returned in her Converse. There were visible bags under her eyes and her eye makeup was a little smudged because she hadn’t bothered to clean up properly this morning because she was so desperate to come home. If it had been a good night, then Joan would have returned in her heels and she would have tied her hair up respectably this morning before leaving the hotel room she’d stayed in. After reapplying her makeup, of course. None of this took deducing to figure out. This was just part of Joan. Sherlock had watched Joan come home from several parties in different manners. And last night obviously hadn’t gone the way Joan had wanted it to.

“Stop it.” Joan snapped.

Sherlock looked slightly taken back. “Stop what?”

“Stop looking, stop staring, deducing, just stop!”

“Joan I-…I don’t mean to, I-“

“ _Try_ , Sherlock. Just once. Try.”

Sherlock’s eyes cast down to her lap. “I don’t understand why you’re so angry with me. Is it what I said about Alex?”

_“Aiden!”_

Sherlock jumped. Her voice was quieter this time, slower. “Yes, of course…Is it what I said about Aiden?”

“If that’s all it was…” Joan half laughed. But it wasn’t amusement that made her do so. “If that’s all the problem was then this would be hell of a lot easier.”

“Then tell me what it is. I’m concerned for you, Joan.”

Joan laughed again. It was bitter this time. “ _You’re_ concerned for _me_? Is that some kind of sick joke?”

Sherlock tilted her head to the side. “Not at all…”

“I walked in on you overdosing…And you’re concerned for me. Right. Yes, I can clearly see how that makes sense, Sherlock.”

Sherlock thought for a moment. “Well…That’s good because we’ve spoken about this before, Joan. It’s controlled usage as you know and-“

“I WAS BEING SARCASTIC!”

Sherlock straightened up in her chair. She bowed her head and stayed silence for a moment or two. Eventually she spoke. “Joan. Please try to understand, I had finished the case last week. I was bored…”

“Bored.” Joan repeated.

Sherlock nodded.

Joan sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Christ, Sherlock.”

“I had- _have_ no experiments to conduct.”

Joan simply nodded, staring off into the empty space.

“I know it upsets you-“

“Do you?” Joan snapped. “I’m not so sure.”

When Sherlock made eye contact again, Joan’s stare was cold and hard. It made Sherlock’s chest hurt and she didn’t like it.

“I’m not doing it anymore.”

“Doing what…?” Sherlock queried.

“You overdosing. I’m not going out of my way to make sure you still wake up from your sessions. It’s useless and it’s pointless. I don’t have any good reasons to continue doing it. I don’t care, Sherlock. I DON’T CARE!” Joan stopped and gave herself a moment to find her words again. “One day this will kill you. Controlled usage or not. It _will_ kill you. I know it, Mycroft knows it and I’m pretty bloody sure you know it, too.” She stood up and began to walk aimlessly around the room.

Sherlock watched nervously. Joan rarely made her feel this way and it was horrible when she did. She let Joan’s words settle on her before beginning to reply. “But Mycroft-“

“FUCK MYCROFT!”

Silence.

Sherlock’s eyes widened and she felt the tension melt, if only slightly.

“Not literally.” Joan mumbled and peered over at Sherlock through her golden locks. She watched Sherlock open and close her mouth numerous times before she just continued to stare at Joan, her eyebrows knitted together. Joan brushed back her hair and huffed a little. Although a tired smile did dare to escape onto her lips. She giggled a little too. That adorable, lovable giggle that Joan Watson did.

Sherlock visibly relaxed and managed to laugh a little too. “I believe that’s Lestrade’s job.”

Joan grimaced. “That’s not something I want to imagine, Sherlock.”

Sherlock smiled softly, her eyes followed Joan as she came back over and perched on the edge of the coffee table. For a moment, she held her head in her hands. Sherlock almost reached out to her but thought better of it. She didn’t want to push any boundaries.

“I hate watching you hurt yourself, Sherlock. You won’t let me help you.”

“I don’t need help. I just need-…I don’t need help.” Sherlock sighed and pulled her pin from her bun. Her curls spiralled down her shoulders, stopping just above her ribs. Joan had always envied Sherlock’s hair. It was always so glossy, so well kept, so _Sherlock_.

“You just need what?” Joan pressed softly.

“You.” Sherlock smiled the tinniest of smiles. It vanished quickly. “You keep me right, Joan Watson.”

A blush sprinkled Joan’s cheeks. “I know I do. For the love of God, Sherlock. Don’t do this on your own. Never on your own.”

Sherlock linked her fingers together in her lap. “I have you.”

“Damn right you do.” Joan smiled.

A comfortable silence settled between them. Sherlock reached for her laptop and opened up her website. Regardless of their conversation, Joan knew that Sherlock was going to update the effects of her recent drug usage when taken all at once. She let her do so, of course. She liked to imagine that it made Sherlock feel better by sharing the results with whoever read the posts. Joan took this opportunity to update her blog. She’d had a few days of catching up to do. Within half an hour, Joan could hear the drone of Sherlock’s voice repeating the same one word every few minutes.

“Dull… _Dull_ …Oh this one- no, dull.” Sherlock let out a heavy sigh. “Well this is tedious.”

“You’ve not tried very hard to look for a good one.” Joan commented.

Sherlock snorted. “I don’t need to _try_ , Joan. Maybe you should _try harder_ to write something.”

Joan looked up. “Beg your pardon?”

“You’ve written three sentences in 37 minutes. Is that your idea of productive?”

As Joan tried to think of something smart to reply with, Sherlock’s laptop pinged. Sherlock turned her attention back to her laptop screen and a grin of delight spread across her face. “BRILLIANT!” She clasped her hands together and mumbled her way through the message she’d obviously just received. Joan watched her intently. “Look decent, Watson. We have a case!”

Joan smiled. “Who, where and when?”

“Trafalgar Square. Two children are missing from their home and have been since Monday.”

“Since when do you take up kidnapping cases?” Joan chuckled, sliding into her coat.

“Since the neighbour’s upstairs keep trying to tell me that there’s an Unidentified Flying Object coming from Heathrow Airport.” Sherlock rolled her eyes and tied her scarf neatly around her neck. “Their idiocy is mind-numbing, Joan. It’s painful to listen to.”

The pair laughed a little. Joan followed Sherlock out of 221B, climbing into a cab that Sherlock had hailed. As Sherlock listed all the important details, Joan listened with interest. She then busied herself with the thoughts of their friendship. It was strange how the two were only bickering hours earlier about the dangers of overdosing but had so quickly pushed all of that to the back of their minds to focus on what really brought the two of them together.

The friends were out again, adventuring their way around the streets and buildings of London and deducing their way through crime scenes because of course, that’s what Sherlock Holmes and Joan Watson did best.


End file.
